


The Phantom of Winslow

by NapoleonBonerfart



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Charlotte is Christine, Crossover, Gen, fusion au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27562150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NapoleonBonerfart/pseuds/NapoleonBonerfart
Summary: Winslow High School’s theater department has long been plagued by rumors of a ghost haunting it, with mysterious accidents and rumors of something lurking in the shadows.  When Charlotte Daaé is forced to take over the lead role in Winslow’s production of Hannibal after the lead actress, Emma Barnes, is injured, is this just an accident or is there something more sinister at work?
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	1. Prologue.

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**♦️ Topic: Winslow High Theater Incident - One Year Later  
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay  
Brocktonite03 **(Original Poster) (Veteran Member)  
Posted On May 1st 2012:  
It’s hard to believe that it’s been a year since the accident that claimed the life of our very own XxVoid_CowboyxX.  
  
I know that Void’s reputation on here wasn’t the greatest, but _please_ be respectful of him as his family and friends do read PHO too.  
  
For a rundown of the Winslow Theater Incident, please refer to Bagrat’s post here giving a rundown of what happened.  
  
With that said, there are still a _lot_ of unanswered questions about this accident, who knows, maybe this thread can help answer some of them.  
  


**(Showing page 1 of 37)**

**►GstringGirl** (Void’s Widow)

Replied On May 1st 2012:

RIP Greg.

It’s been a year and it still hurts, losing him like that.

P.S. I’ve seen the leaked video. There’s no way that what happened to him was an accident. Phantom doesn’t want to know what’ll happen to him/her if I ever find them.

**►White Fairy** (Veteran Member)

Replied On May 1st 2012:

I was in the audience that night, it’s not something that I like thinking about to be honest.

Hindsight is 20/20 and all but if the drama club was getting threats like people have come forward about, they should have just cancelled the show outright.

P.S. I’m with GstringGirl, that was no accident.

**►Bagrat** (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)

Replied On May 1st 2012:

Again, there’s no proof that Phantom, if they exist, is any kind of Parahuman. The only known incidents involving Phantom are from a disembodied voice, in a theater. You don’t exactly need to be a tinker to hijack a sound system in a theater.

**►Char** (Verified Angel of Music)

Replied On May 1st 2012:

Bagrat, please don’t hijack this thread with another “Is Phantom a cape?” derail.

She’s very real, I’ve met her, even seen her unmasked.

I still have nightmares about that.

**►Lady_EB**

Replied On May 1st 2012:

@Char Oh that’s _rich_ coming from you of all people.

**End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 35, 36, 37**

■


	2. A Chandelier in Pieces

Phantom really existed. She was not, as was long believed, a creature of the imagination of bored high school students, the superstition of the faculty, or a product of the absurd and impressionable brains of Parahumans Online. Yes, she existed in flesh and blood, although she assumed the complete appearance of a real phantom; that is to say, of a spectral shade.  
  
I say this not to defend my actions, but to understand them.  
  
For as long as I was a student in Winslow’s theatre department, there had been rumors of a ghost haunting our theater. Mysterious accidents befalling people, strange voices in the shadows, shadows forming a silhouette in the rafters.  
  
Once upon a time, I never paid heed to these rumors, ignoring them. If only I had listened to my past self.  
  
But I suppose the story that you came here to hear starts with Winslow’s production of Hannibal.  
  
———  
  
“Bravo! Bravo! Excellent rehearsal everyone!” Said Mrs. Debienne. Hannibal was going to be her last show as drama teacher and today’s rehearsal was to be her farewell party.  
  
Mrs. Debienne has been Winslow’s drama teacher for years, long enough that some of _our_ parents had her as their drama teacher.  
  
“I’m telling you, it was the ghost!” Said Megan Giry. Megan and I had been in the same dance class our freshmen year and we’ve been inseparable even since.  
  
“Megan, you can’t blame everything that happens here on ghosts.” Said Laura Sorelli. Laura was one of the top dancers at Winslow, and she easily had the talent to get into NYU after she graduated, despite going to Winslow.  
  
“I’m telling you I’ve seen him too!” This one was from Cecily James, a freshman who we nicknamed ‘Little Jamie.'  
  
“You’ve seen him?” I asked.  
  
“As plainly as I see you now Charlotte!” Cecily replied. “A tall figure in a cloak and a mask covering his face.”  
  
“Jamie, that was probably a cape.” I said. “I can think of half a dozen that use that for a costume.”  
  
I grabbed my backpack and walked out of the backstage area with Megan.  
  
“I’m telling you!” Said Cecily. “He has the face of a skeleton, a skull with sunken eyes peering at you unblinking. At least, that’s what Greg told me.”  
  
That made sense, admittedly. Greg Veder had claimed to have seen the ghost and would never hesitate to tell everyone about it in way too much detail. According to him, Greg had seen the ghost on the stairs leading into the basement underneath the stage.  
  
Before I could say anything to Megan or Cecily, I was nearly bowled over by someone shoulder-checking me from behind.  
  
“Move it Daaé.” Said a red-haired girl practically stepping over us.  
  
Of course it would be her.  
  
Emma Barnes.  
  
If there is one person I could have done without in Drama class, it was Emma fucking Barnes. Unfortunately, Emma had been cast in the lead for Hannibal, and would constantly rub it in our faces. I had ‘lucked’ into being Emma’s understudy for the play, and was instead cast in as part of the chorus instead.  
  
I mean, it wasn’t _bad_ by any means, but it had the unfortunate problem of putting me on Emma Barnes’ personal shit list, as now anything that happened to her, no matter how small was now obviously my fault and part of a conspiracy to take the lead role from her.  
  
So yeah, we didn’t get along. I mean, I wasn’t about to call down the Slaughterhouse Nine on her and let her get eaten by Locust’s bugs, but that was about it.  
  
“ _Charlotte..._ ” came a voice from nowhere and everywhere in the hallway.  
  
“Who’s there?” I asked. I looked around, and the hallway was empty.,  
  
“ _Charlotte..._ ” said the voice again.  
  
I shook my head to clear the cobwebs, I must not have gotten enough sleep if I was hearing voices.  
  
Anyway, I had to get to Mr. Quinlan’s class since he was a stickler about attendance.


	3. Think of Me

It was a cold January morning when I got to school on the day I found out. We were less than a week away from opening night for Hannibal and we were scrambling around trying to get everything ready.  
  
“Okay Emma, let’s take it from the top of ‘Think of Me.’” Said our director, Mr. Firmin.  
  
“A one, and a two, and a three!” He said.  
  
“Think of me, think of me fondly, when we said goodbye.” Emma sang, her lilting soprano powering through the high notes of the song.  
  
It wasn’t easy, my vocal coach used to train with Emma when Emma was just starting out, and knew her style of singing well and had passed it on to me.  
  
“Charlotte, can you grab me my water bottle out of my dressing room?” Asked Emma. I turned to look at her to make sure and she just gave me this look that said ‘what are you still doing here.’  
  
I trundled my way backstage to the dressing rooms, mindful of the old and creaking walls. Winslow’s theater was... weird. It actually predates the school, having been built at the turn of the century as an opera house, before it was abandoned and fell into disrepair. When Brockton Bay needed to build a new school in the docks, they built Winslow around the old theater. The Anders Conservancy had then, in turn, raised the money to restore the theater to its former glory.  
  
The result was that while the rest of Winslow was a dilapidated shithole, the theater was surprisingly ornate, with golden cherubim statues lining the proscenium, an elaborately painted fire curtain, and an elaborate chandelier hanging up in the house.  
  
As I walked through the winding labyrinthine backstage corridors, I finally made it to Emma’s dressing room.  
  
“ _You’re better than her you know..._ ”  
  
I don’t know why Emma thought I would be content to be her little errand girl. Actually, I did, she wanted me to waste my time doing everything except rehearsing during rehearsals, so that I couldn't take her place.  
  
As I sifted through the mess that was Emma’s dressing room, looking for her stupid water bottle, I knocked over Emma’s backpack. It wasn’t a huge mess, just some papers and books from her schoolwork. I went to put them back in when I saw something else had slipped out of her backpack.  
  
A stack of photographs.  
  
To this day, I don’t know what possessed me to look through them, maybe it was the temptation to see who could stand being around Emma long enough to actually be her friend.  
  
On the top of the stack was a picture of Emma along with Sophia Hess and Madison Clements. I knew Sophia from my Math class, but I didn’t realize that she had been friends with Emma as some point. Madison was somebody I had seen in the hallways a couple of times and had been in the same English class freshmen year. Yet I couldn’t tell you a thing more about her.  
  
I continued to flip through the stack of photos, photos of Emma with Madison and Sophia, photos of Sophia running track, a blurry photo of Shadow Stalker, pictures of Emma with her family, and then at the bottom of the stack was the one that caught my attention.  
  
It was a much younger Emma next to another girl. This other girl had long curly hair that was nearly black, a pair of glasses framed her face. Both girls were grinning from ear to ear. It was hard to believe that somebody like Emma could actually be that carefree and happy. It was only then that I noticed that the dark haired girl's face in the photo had been partially scratched out.  
  
"What the hell are you doing in here Daaé?" Shouted Emma.  
  
I turned around and Emma Barnes was there, standing in the doorway. "Emma!" I nearly yelped. "I was just grabbing your water bottle for you."  
  
Emma scowled. "I didn't ask you to go through my things Charlotte." She sneered.  
  
"I'm sorry Emma." I apologized. "Your purse fell over and the photos fell out and I was going to put them back in."  
  
"Uh huh." She replied. "And that's why you were pawing through my photos?"  
  
"N-no Emma." I replied. Flustered.  
  
" _You should be in the lead role_ "  
  
I didn't know why I was letting Emma boss me around like that. We were both actresses in this play, just because she has the bigger part didn't mean that she could just boss me around like that. Who did that girl think she is?!  
  
"Finally!" Said Mr. Firmin. "What were you two doing back there?"  
  
"Nothing Mr. Firmin!" Said Emma. "I just asked Charlotte to get me something from my dressing room and when she couldn't find it, she texted me and asked me for help."  
  
"Okay, let's take it from the bridge of 'Think of Me.' Greg, can you cue the CD?" Firmin asked.  
  
Over in the sound booth, I look and saw Greg Veder holding a set of headphones up to his ear, listening intently, before pausing the CD player and then giving Mr. Firmin a thumbs up.  
  
As the music started to swell over the speakers, I started mentally counting the beats in my head, waiting for the cue.  
  
"Remember me, once in a while. Please, promise me you'll try." Emma sang.  
  
"And you'll find that once again you-" Emma's singing was cut off by one of the painted backdrops that hung from the Cyc fell down. I could only watch in horror as the backdrop depicting the alps tumbled towards the stage.  
  
"Watch out!" Yelled Cecily. Emma tried to jump out of the way, but her foot got caught on the stage floor and she stumbled onto the round, paimfully twisting her ankle.  
  
"Emma!" Said one of the background dancers. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Miss Clements, please take Miss Barnes to the nurse, with luck it's nothing that some ibprofen can't fix." Said Mr. Firmin.  
  
“Please everyone, don’t worry, we’ll get the backdrop re-hung in just a moment.” Said Mr. Firmin. “In the meantime, Miss Daaé, if you would. Let’s take it from the chorus.”  
  
I watched the sound booth as Greg re-cued the CD to the chorus for this song, watching for his cue.  
  
Once again, the sounds of the orchestra swelled through the speakers and I counted along to the beats until my cue.  
  
“Think of me, think of me fondly, when we’ve said goodbye!” I sang, following my vocal coach’s advice.  
  
“Remember me, once in a while. Please promise me you’ll try!” I continued, feeling the words come out of me as if I’d written them myself.  
  
“When you find that, once again, you long to take your heart back and be free, If you ever find a moment. Spare a thought for me.” As I finished the chorus, I looked around the theater to shocked faces from everyone.  
  
“Charlotte...” Said Megan. “Where in the world did you learn to sing like that?”  
  
“That was incredible, Charlotte!” Said Mr. Firmin.  
  
“You guys...”. I said. “You liked that?”  
  
“Liked it?” Said Megan’s mom. “I loved it! You blew us all away!”  
  
I was stunned. I know my voice coach was always praising my singing, but I just thought they were being nice. To have everyone in the drama club singing those same praises, it was putting me on cloud nine.  
  
I almost hoped Emma wouldn’t be okay if it meant that I had the chance to perform on stage as the lead.  
  
“ _Bravo, Bravo, Bravissimo..._ ”


	4. Little ‘lotte

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■

  
**Private Message History with O.G.  
  
O.G.:** Your days in Winslow’s Drama Club are numbered.  
 **O.G.:** Charlotte Daaé will be singing on your behalf from now on.  
 **[ O.G. Has Been Blocked. You will no longer be able to send or receive messages from them.]**  
  


**■**

  
It was a tradition for the Winslow Drama Club’s cast and crew to celebrate after our closing night at Fugly Bob’s, and Saturday night after Hannibal had closed was no exception.  
  
I had been in the process of changing out of my costume and into my street clothes when I head a knock on my dressing room door.  
  
“Just a minute!” I shouted, throwing a top on over the corset I had worn with my costume.  
  
I cracked open the door to my dressing room and there was a familiar boy my age I could have sworn I’d seen before.  
  
“Can I help you?” I asked.  
  
“Yes, I just wanted to know if you still had that scarf.” He said. I was caught off-guard by his non-sequitur about a scarf. The only person I could think of who’d ask me about a scarf was...  
  
“Forrest?!” I asked, shocked.  
  
“Surprise!” He said, smiling.  
  
“What are you even doing here?” I asked. Forrest Chagny was an old friend of mine growing up, back when we had lived in Boston before dad passed away. When we were kids, I had lost my favorite scarf at the beach when it had blown into the ocean. Forrest, in the infinite wisdom of an 8 year old, dove into the waves to retrieve it. In November. He had caught a cold from that, but I'll never forget that look of triumph on his face when he had emerged from the sea like Botticelli's Venus, holding the scarf.  
  
“Well I was in the neighborhood and I recognized your name in the playbill, so I bought a ticket.” Forrest explained. “You did an amazing job on stage tonight.”  
  
“Awww you're so sweet.” I said. “Listen, everyone in the cast is going out to Fugly Bob's in a little bit. Do you wanna come with me to that?”  
  
“Are you kidding?” He replied. “I'd love that!”  
  
“Great! Just give me like 2 seconds to get out of this corset and finish changing and we can head over there.” I replied.  
  
I closed the door and left Forrest outside while I finished changing.  
  
“ _Charlotte...”_ came a voice from the walls. It wasn't Forrest's voice. It was _that_ voice.  
  
“ _Charlotte...”_ the voice said. “ _He will only hold you back.”_  
  
“How can you talk like that, when I sing only for you!” I shouted.  
  
“ _Are you tired my angel?”_ said the voice.  
  
"Tonight I gave you my soul and I am dead on my feet." I said.  
  
“ _Your soul is a beautiful thing, Charlotte,”_ it said. “ _and I thank you. No emperor has ever received so fair a gift. The angels wept tonight.”_  
  
“Angel please.” I said.  
  
“ _Shhhhh my sweet.”_ the voice said. “ _Someone else is listening.”_  
  
That hit me in the gut, someone else had been listening in on my conversation. But the only person I could think of would have been Forrest. I quickly finished changing out of my costume and into my street clothes in silence.  
  
Opening the door to my dressing room, I found Forrest standing there, looking guiltily like he hadn't just been trying to listen in on my conversation.  
  
“Hey Forrest, I'm feeling kinda wiped out tonight. Can I take a rain check on dinner.” I said. “Tomorrow night maybe?”  
  
As I watched the smile on his face fade into nothing in front me, I felt a pang of guilt stab at my heart.  
  
Leaning in, I gave him a peck on the cheek. “See you tomorrow.” I said.  
  
———  
  
As Forrest watched Charlotte hurry out the door to the cast party, he realized that the dressing room door had been left open, and yet no other person had left through that door. As if to satiate his curiosity, he went inside, hoping to find that mysterious person Charlotte had been speaking with.  
  
The inside of the room was dark, the lights having been turned off when Charlotte left.  
  
“I know you're in here!” Forrest shouted. “What are you hiding for?”  
  
The dressing room was dark and silent, with the only sound being Forrest's breathing.  
  
“I'm not letting this drop until you show yourself!” he exclaimed. “If not, then you are a mere coward.”  
  
He turned on the flashlight app on his phone. The electronic light barely made a dent in lighting up the pitch black room. Using his phone’s flashlight, he looked around for the light switch. Finding it, Forrest flipped on the lights, blazing the dressing room with its incandescent illumination.  
  
The room was empty.  
  
Forrest went through the closet, opening up the cupboards, and felt around the walls, looking for the hidden doors.  
  
Nothing.  
  
He began to wonder if he was going insane. He had heard Charlotte talking to someone in this very room. A room that he had only seen Charlotte leave from, and that had a single exit.  
  
Turning the lights back off, he closed and locked the door. He'd ask Charlotte about it tomorrow.  
  
———  
  
As it was after any show, Fugly Bob's was _packed_ with theater students.  
  
A full half of the booths were taken up by theater kids from Winslow, all of them celebrating the success of Hannibal. Crowded into one of the booths was Charlotte, Megan, Laura, and Cecily.  
  
“Where’s Emma?” I asked. As much as she was a bitch to me, I didn’t want to leave her out, she was just as much of this production, even if she hadn’t ended up making it to the stage because of her ankle.  
  
“She didn’t feel like coming.” Laura explained. “I heard her over in the nurses office last week after she sprained her ankle. Blackwell was all like ‘it was simply an accident Miss Barnes, these things happen in the theater.’”  
  
“Her dad was so pissed about that.” Laura continued. “Saying like ‘well stop these things from happening.’”  
  
“That’ll be the day.” snorted Megan. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a show here where nothing went wrong. You hear anything else?”  
  
“Just Blackwell saying something about a settlement being the reason that they don’t have money for anything.” said Laura.  
  
“So Charlotte, I gotta ask,” said Megan. “Where’d you learn to sing like that?”  
  
“Back before he died, my dad used to tell me stories of an angel of music.” I explained. “And eventually I would dream of them as well.”  
  
“This angel wouldn’t happen to be 15 feet tall and screamy, would she?” asked Cecily.  
  
“They’re not that kind of angel Jamie.” I explained. “It’s just like, whenever I would practice singing, they’d harmonize with me and help me hit the right notes.”  
  
“Charlotte, you must have been dreaming.” Megan said. “Things like that don’t happen outside of books.”  
  
“Then believe I’ve got a really good vocal coach. But that’s how I learned to sing as well as I have Megan.” I said.  
  
The conversation died down then as everyone’s food started arriving.  
  
  
———  
  
  


> Dear Ms. Blackwell,
> 
> Just a brief reminder that my settlement for this month has yet to be paid. Please send it to me as soon as possible or else dire action will have to be taken.
> 
> O.G.
> 
> P.S. No one likes a debtor so it's better if my orders are obeyed


	5. Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody’s been sending threatening letters, the school thinks it’s Charlotte.

“Would Miss Charlotte Daaé please report to the principal’s office?” came a voice over the PA system. “Charlotte Daaé to the principal’s office.”  
  
I had to endure everyone in my history class looking at me askance as I packed up my things. I’d have to get the notes about the after-effects of the Franco-Prussian War on the downfall of the Second Empire from Megan after whatever it was that they wanted.  
  
I wove my way through the empty halls of Winslow, my footsteps clicking on the linoleum floors. With each step I took towards the office, the walls seemed to pull away just that little bit, leaving me lost in the labyrinth that was Winslow’s graffiti scrawled corridors.  
  
As I walked, I wished that I could be anywhere but where I was, and so I took it upon myself to picture what this school could have looked like when it was new and the people running it wanted it to impress. Were the graying walls covered in gang tags once a pristine white? Was the faded and peeling avocado-green paint on the lockers once intact and whole?  
  
For all of their questionable ties, the Anders Conservancy’s dedication to maintaining Winslow’s theater as an opulent opera house that was a throwback to a nonexistent golden age had created the odd contrast between the opulence of the theater’s heightened reality and the drab and depressing world of the school attached to it.  
  
As I walked into the office, I could see the foul looks that everyone gave me the second I stepped across the threshold.  
  
“Finally.” said the secretary, her tone conveying an entire orchestra's worth of suspicion and annoyance. “You took your sweet time getting here.”  
  
The secretary walked over to Blackwell's office and opened the door. “Charlotte Daaé is here to see you.”  
  
“Send her in.” I heard Principal Blackwell's voice on the other side of the door.  
  
As I got up to go into the principal’s office I head the Secretary clear her throat.  
  
Turning to look at her, she said one thing to me. “Backpack stays outside Daaé.”  
  
Chastened, I slipped my backpack off and left it on the hard plastic chair that I had been sitting in.  
  
Walking into the office, the first thing that caught my eye wasn't Principal Blackwell, it was Emma Barnes. Her, her father, Messirs Gladly and Firmin were standing there in her office as well.  
  
"Are you sure you don't want Sophia here?" Mr. Barnes said to Emma in a low voice, thinking that I wouldn't hear him.  
  
"No dad." Emma replied in a low voice as well. "Sophia and I... aren't talking right now."  
  
"I see that the illustrious Miss Daaé has deigned to grace us with her presence." Said Principal Blackwell.  
  
"I came as soon as you called for me." I said, defending myself.  
  
"I'm sure." Said Blackwell, her voice betraying a deep doubt of my words.  
  
“Would you care to explain these notes, Miss Daaé.” Said Blackwell, placing several printouts in front of me.  
  
I grabbed the top one and read it.  
  


> MY DEAR MONSIEUR GLADLY:

> I am sorry to have to trouble you at a time when you must be so very busy, writing about the lives of those students in your care, making friends with those who are half of your own age, and generally displaying your excellent taste. I know what you have done for Mlles. Barnes, Sorelli and little Jamie and for a few others whose admirable qualities of talent or genius you have suspected.

> Of course, when I use these words, I do not mean to apply them to Mlle. Emma Barnes, who sings like a squirt and who ought never to have been allowed to leave Theater Camp; nor to Mlle Sorelli, who owes her success mainly to the many tutors hired by her family; nor to little Jamie, who dances like a calf in a field. And I am not speaking of Mlle. Charlotte Daaé either, though her genius is certain, whereas your jealousy prevents her from creating any important part. When all is said, you are free to conduct your little educational institution as you think best, are you not?

> All the same, I should like to take advantage of the fact that you have not yet turned Mlle. Charlotte Daaé out of doors by hearing her in the lead role of The Countess in this semester's production of _Il Muto_ ; and I will ask you not to dispose of my box today nor on the FOLLOWING DAYS, for I can not end this letter without telling you how disagreeably surprised I have been once or twice, to hear, on arriving at the Theater, that my box had been sold, at the box-office, by your orders.
> 
> I did not protest, first, because I dislike scandal, and, second, because I thought that your predecessors, Mme. Debienne and M. Poligny, who were always charming to me, had neglected, before leaving, to mention my little fads to you. I have now received a reply from them to my letter asking for an explanation, and this reply proves that you know all about my Settlement and, consequently, that you are treating me with outrageous contempt. IF YOU WISH TO LIVE IN PEACE, YOU MUST NOT BEGIN BY TAKING AWAY MY PRIVATE BOX.

> Your Obedient Servant,
> 
> O.G.

  
The note was written in an extremely messy script that more closely resembled the scrawling of an animal on the straw floor of a barn than any kind of handwriting. The letter G in the signature of O.G. had more in common with a canted Greek letter Omega than the Latin character it was presumed to be, for example.  
  
I've seen a lot of things that students in this school would do to each other, but sending these notes to threaten us into casting you is no way to get ahead, young Miss.” said Mr. Gladly. Armand Gladly was one of my least favorite teachers. He could charitably be described as a teacher who would write such voluminous Memoirs during the fairly brief period of his teaching career at Winslow that one may well ask if he ever found time to attend to the matter of teaching other than by telling others what went on in his classroom.  
  
I flipped to the next note, a printout that Emma provided of a PM conversation between her and this O.G. on PHO threatening that her days in the Winslow Drama Club were numbered.  
  
“You think that I had anything to do with this?” I asked, incredulously.  
  
“Cui bono. Miss Daaé.” said Mr. Barnes. “You stand to benefit from these threats being obeyed.”  
  
“And that's all you have?” I said, dismayed. “You think that because I would benefit from this that I must have something to do with it?”  
  
“It does seem very suspicious.” said Blackwell.  
  
“This inquisition is a joke.” I grumbled.  
  
“I’m sure that if you had nothing to do with these notes than you have nothing to hide.” said Blackwell.  
  
“ _They will not allow you to sing if you let them._ ” I suddenly stiffened in my seat. It was _that_ voice. _Their_ voice.  
  
“You’re right that I have nothing to hide.” I said, my face held high in defiance. “Search my backpack if you want to. You won’t find anything to do with this, because I had nothing to do with these notes.”  
  
“Miss Daaé, please go grab your backpack and we can take care of this affair right now.” Blackwell said, her face split by an unconvincing smile.  
  
I took my cue and walked out of Blackwell’s office to grab my backpack. Walking out the door, I grabbed my backpack, only to find that it wouldn’t budge. Looking down at it, it had been pinned to the chair by a crossbow bolt, along with a note.  
  
I couldn’t help it, I let out a small scream, which had in turn summoned the principal out of her office.  
  
“What? What is it?” Mr. Barnes asked.  
  
“Someone pinned this to my backpack with a crossbow bolt!” I said, grabbing the note from the bolt.  
  
Unfolding the note, I began to read it aloud.  
  
“Miss Daaé,” I read. “Your talents have not gone unnoticed. Why you choose to squander these talents on school plays is beyond me. But you could be doing so much more.”  
  
Unlike the earlier note, this one had been written in a neater hand. I couldn’t say for certain that it was the same author, but the earlier note could have been written in their off hand.  
  
“Let me see that!” Said Blackwell, snatching the note out of my hand.  
  
“And this wasn’t on your backpack before you came into our meeting?” Mr. Barnes asked.  
  
“Of course not!” I exclaimed. “The bolt would have stabbed me in the neck.”  
  
“Of course, of course. My apologies for suspecting you.” Said Mr. Barnes.  
  
It occurred to me that it was only because of that last note that I was able to clear my name. As much as I loved the stage, I was beginning to hate Winslow.  
  
I put that thought out of my mind so I could go home and get ready for my date with Forrest.


	6. The Mysterious Reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte and Forrest finally go on their first date, and their second and many more. But when Forrest's brother and his girlfriend tag along, it becomes too much to deal with.

After that meeting in the principals office, I had never felt as low as I had in my entire life. Even though they no longer thought I was the one sending those notes, I was still going to be banned from the next show, to discourage whoever it was who _had_ written them.

It was fortunate then that as soon as I had left school, there was none other than Forrest standing there waiting for me.

"Your carriage awaits, Mademoiselle." He said, a joking lilt to his voice.

"Merci Monsieur." I replied, smiling. I had grown up in a bilingual household speaking both French and English, so now I took French classes as an easy A as I already knew how to speak it. Myself along with another drama club member, Alec Piangi, who was in a similar situation as me would just hang out in the back of the class and shoot the shit in French. Of course, it didn't take long for Madame Giry to figure out what we were doing and instead have us work as tutors for the rest of the class as well as making us read classics of French Literature. For example, I had been asked to write a 5 page paper analyzing the themes of "[La Comtesse de Monte-Cristo](https://saberbattles.com/threads/the-countess-complete-worm-the-count-of-monte-cristo-fusion-1815-au.813386/)" last semester.

That night, Forrest had taken me out to one of the nicest dinners I've ever had. After so many cast parties at Fugly Bob's it was easy to forget that it wasn't the only restaurant in Brockton Bay.

Sitting across from him at the bistro, I took a sip of my Gazpacho before I started speaking.

"I guess it's just..." I said, hesitantly. “I feel like I don't know myself when I sing.”

“You mean,” Forrest said in a whisper. “You think your angel is mastering you?”

“I don't know...” I said. “but I don't think that's exactly right. I still feel like myself when I sing, but I keep thinking that it’s not really _me_ they’re hearing but rather the angel instead.”

“I mean, don’t take this the wrong way.” Forrest said. “That’s not an unreasonable fear, from the way you described their powers, it seems plausible.”

I couldn’t keep the wince off of my face. “You don’t think I should sing?” I asked.

“I could never say no to hearing you sing.” He said. “But if you need to take a break from it to prove that you can sing without your angel’s help, that’s your decision.”

———

That was how it started. Forrest had gone to Arcadia High, which let for the day out earlier than Winslow, so every day he’s wait outside and take me out. Sometimes we’d go out to the park on Captain’s Hill and sit on the grass and just spend the afternoon relaxing

Other times we would stay up and read horror stories to try and scare each other, just like we used to as kids.

And even though I wasn’t singing on the stage, I would still practice every day, honing my craft. Dad had always encouraged me to sing, and he would even use his violin to accompany me with music sometimes.

Spending my afternoons with Forrest had quickly become my new routine. With my ban from the Drama club, I didn’t feel like sticking around after school, so I spent my time with Forrest instead. It was nice, if I’m being honest. It wasn’t wild passion but just a comfortable routine, which is exactly what I needed right then.

———

It was just after sundown on Saturday when Forrest rang my doorbell. After getting back from Shabbat, I had spent the afternoon going through my wardrobe trying to find something to wear. I had almost been tempted to go down to the market and buy a new dress, even if it meant having to risk a lecture from _zaydee_ about working on the sabbath. In the end, I had found a nice dress that I had bought to celebrate after Hannibal had opened.

Running down and opening the door, I smiled at seeing Forrest there in a nice button up shirt and slacks with his beard trimmed neatly. However, what had surprised me were the two people with him. Next to him was another boy, one slightly older and also dressed up nicely, but it was the girl next to him that truly surprised me. It was Laura Sorelli.

“Laura? What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Oh well my boyfriend Phillip here was telling me about how his younger brother was going to go on a date with the newest star of Winslow Drama,” Laura said. “I thought we could make it a double date, given that we're _such_ good friends and all.” Her smile at this last sentence could cut glass, but since I didn't want to make a bad impression on Forrest's family, I was stuck.

“Shall we mademoiselle?” He said, holding his arm out for me to grab onto.

“We shall monsieur.” I replied, smiling at his joke.

“Ooooh pet names already! You’re moving quick!” Snarked Phillip. I held a strained smile at Phillip’s peanut gallery comments.

“We’ve been dating for two months Phil.” Said Forrest, his voice strained.

“So where do you wanna go? Fugly Bob’s?” Phillip asked.

Truth be told, I was kinda tired of Fugly Bob’s. Both because of its association with Winslow’s cast parties and also because Fugly Bob’s wasn’t a restaurant that you ‘go to’ so much as ‘end up at’ when nobody can agree on where to go out to eat.

"No thanks, I've had them a ton this week and I'd prefer something else." I said.

"What about that Chinese place, Canton Star?" Forrest suggested.

"Not really in the mood for Chinese." Laura said. "Sorry."

"What about that pizza place on 5th, Slice of Life?" I suggested.

"Had pizza for lunch." Phillip said, shooting that idea down.

"How about Italian?" Laura suggested. "I know a place just off Lord's Street that has the best Lasagna."

"That's kind of a heavy meal." I said.

So in the end, we ended up at Fugly Bob's, as none of us could agree on where to go out to eat.

The drive over to Fugly Bob's was one of the most awkward car rides I had ever taken in my life. Phillip was a cape geek that put Greg Veder to shame, and that was saying something; and he could not shut up about how he was totally some super important person on PHO.

"...Then Bagrat PM's me back and says 'hey my sources at the docks say there's this big fight between the Empire and the Undersiders.' Now I wasn't about to risk myself just for that, but I was already pretty close by anyway, so I might as well check it out. I get there and there's just nobody there, so I pull out my smartphone and..." Oh my god how was Phillip still talking about some stupid PHO crap.

"...So I reported Void's post for speculating on cape identities and Alathea PM's me not even a second later saying that she's not really sure if that counts because Void wasn't talking about a specific cape..." Kill me now please.

"...Like, yeah Locust killed Jack Slash and all but I mean come on, all she can do in control bugs, that's not THAT great of a power..." How was he still talking?

I had never been so glad to be at Fugly Bob's than I was after that car ride.

"What are you thinking about getting?" Forrest asked me.

"Cheeseburger, no Mayo." I said. "You?"

"ABC Burger sounds pretty good right now." Forrest replied, eyeing up the picture of the Avocado Bacon Cheeseburger in the menu.

"So Charlotte," Phillip asked me. "I heard you had the lead role in Hannibal last month?"

"I did." I replied. "I was originally the understudy for the role but then Emma sprained her ankle during rehearsal and I took over the role."

"Convenient." Laura sniped.

"What was that Laura?" I asked.

"Just that it's convenient that a week before we opened, Emma just _happened_ to sprain her ankle and have you take over the role." said Laura

"And I didn't have anything to do with that." I said, defending myself.

"Uh huh." Said Laura, her voice dripping with skepticism. "So it's the ghost that's doing it then? Causing little accidents here and there that just happen to benefit you?"

"That's enough." Said Forrest, his voice firm.

Laura looked over at Phillip as if for support.

"Look, I'm not taking any sides in this argument." He said. "But I think that Laura raises some valid question here."

I didn't want to hear anymore, the blood was pounding in my ears. I had to get out of here. Every one of Laura's barbs had picked at the scabs of my insecurities over this whole thing.

"Thank you all, it's been a lovely evening, but I think it's time for me to go." I said, getting up from our booth.

"Here let me give you a ride." Phillip said.

"No thank you, I think you've done enough." I said, cooly. "I'll take the bus home."

Walking out of that diner, I just wanted to be anywhere but here. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes and I didn't want them to see how much those words stung.

"Charlotte!" Forrest yelled from behind me. I couldn't face him. Not right now. I ignored his yell.

"Charlotte! Wait!" He yelled again. I ignored him and kept walking.

"Angel. Please." I said to myself in the darkness. "I need to see you. I need to know you're real."

" _Charlotte..._ " I heard _that_ voice say. " _Come to me my angel..._ "

"Angel?" I asked into the darkness.

" _I'm here..._ " The voice wasn't omnipresent anymore but coming from one of the side streets.

"Charlotte!" I heard Forrest saying from behind me in the distance. But I was too focused to pay him any mind right now. My angel of music was here and was almost within my reach.

" _Come to me..._ " The voice called out again from a side street.

I followed.


	7. Interlude A♭

■

  
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**♦ Topic: Winslow Theater Ghost Sighting  
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► Cape Sightings  
XxVoid_CowboyxX ** (Original Poster)  
Posted On Nov 11th 2010:  
Guys,

Okay so I was in my tech theater class at Winslow running XLR cables underneath the stage as part of setup for the show when I heard somebody come into the orchestra pit.

Now, theater tech is a pretty small group so we all tend to know each other. So when I heard somebody else walked in, I just assumed it was one of the guys in tech who was helping me run cables at the other end.

It was not.

It was very much not that.

I saw a figure in a long cloak and white mask covering their face. At first I thought it was Shadow Stalker or Daroga or whatever it is she's calling herself now.

If I had to describe it, I'd say that this person was extremely thin and their clothes seemed to almost hang off of their frame like a tent. They were wearing what appeared to be a formal suit with a cloak around them and a featureless white mask that covered their face.

I ~~screamed like a little girl~~ asked them what they were doing and they just respond, just ignored me and walked off down a corridor.

I chased after them but as soon as I ran into the same corridor they had vanished. (some kind of mover power?)

Anyway, I'm kinda freaked out here.

**(Showing page 1 of 1)  
**

> **►GstringGirl**
> 
> Replied On Nov 11th 2010:
> 
> OMG! Are you okay? That sounds really scary!

> **►Laser Augment**

> Replied On Nov 11th 2010:
> 
> Oh great, another Winslow Ghost sighting from Void.
> 
> *Yawn*

> My girlfriend does dance there. The ghost is just a bunch of stories that seniors make up to scare freshmen, then those freshmen go on to tell the same stories to freshmen when they become seniors. You were being pranked bro.

> **►Alathea** (Moderator)

> Replied On Nov 11th 2010:
> 
> Not a cape sighting.

> Locked.

**End of Page. 1**

■

* * *

> If you appear onstage tonight, you must be prepared for a great misfortune at the moment when you open your mouth to sing ... a misfortune worse than death.

> O.G.

  
The anonymous letter took away Emma’s appetite for breakfast. She put her bowl of cereal on the nightstand, sat up in bed and thought hard. It was not the first letter of the kind which she had received, but she never had one couched in such threatening terms. When the first one had arrived those months ago, she had thought little of the anonymous note, written with messy handwriting in red ink.

But then the letters kept coming.

Her father had tried going to the police for help, but they referred them to the post office who could only tell them that the letters had been postmarked from various public mailboxes in Brockton Bay, something which had failed to narrow things down.

Emma had thought at that time that she was the victim of a thousand jealous attempts and went about saying that she had a secret enemy who had sworn to ruin her. She pretended that a conspiracy was being hatched against her, a cabal which would come to a head one of those days; but she added that she was not someone to be intimidated.

The truth is that, if there was a cabal, it was led by Emma herself against Charlotte, who had no suspicion of it. Emma had never forgiven Charlotte for the triumph which she had achieved when taking her place at a moment's notice. When Emma heard of the astounding reception bestowed upon her understudy, she was at once cured of a sprained ankle and her case of sulking. From that time, she worked with all her might to “smother” her rival, enlisting the services of her friends to persuade the teachers not to give Charlotte an opportunity for a fresh triumph. Certain gossip circles which had begun to extol the talent of Charlotte now interested themselves only in the virtues of Emma Barnes. Lastly, in the drama club itself, as the celebrated, but heartless and soulless diva, she had made it her goal to needle Charlotte every time she saw her, to derive a reaction out of Charlotte and prove her unfitness for the stage.

As much as Emma had wanted to go to the PRT about this “ghost” threatening her, one of the early letters said that the writer knew of a ‘sin’ she had committed, a sin that would see her imprisoned or worse for it. Further letters had made oblique references to details of an incident that only Emma could have known about, an act which served to prove the letter writers seriousness; and which had placed going to the authorities out of reach for her if she did not want this incident to become public.

The more that Emma had thought about this ghost that had been threatening her, the more confident she felt that nothing untoward would happen if she sang Il Muto. Charlotte had been cast in a non-speaking role so as to spite the letter writer, and Charlotte had not even been cast as an understudy to Emma this time, to further frustrate this ghost.

As Emma went downstairs to put her bowl of cereal into the sink, she happened to take a look out of the window in her family's house onto the street outside. The first thing she saw, upon looking out the window, was a hearse. Emma had become very superstitious over the past few months; and the hearse and the letter convinced her that she was running the most serious dangers that evening.

As such, she began texting all her friends and supporters in the school, having told them that she was threatened at that evening's performance with a conspiracy organized by Charlotte Daae and declared that they must fight back by filling the house with her, Emma's, admirers. She had no lack of them, had she? She relied upon them to hold themselves prepared for any eventuality and to silence the adversaries, if, as she feared, they created a disturbance.

* * *

Forrest Chagny was at a loss when he saw Charlotte run out of Fugly Bob's in tears. He knew that his brother could be abrasive and hadn't left the best impression. And from what Charlotte had told him, Emma and her cronies had been spending the semester spreading rumors about her being some kind of devious social climber. Rumors that took on a dark implication when combined with the fact that Charlotte was Jewish in a city like Brockton Bay.

From his own experiences he knew that was the furthest thing from the truth, but he knew that Charlotte was haunted by something. Something that was dark and sinister. He could never forget that first night he had seen her on stage and the voice in the dressing room. The voice sounded as if it was being spoken from a person present in the room and lacked the tinny sound that a voice on a speakerphone would have had. Yet when he entered the dressing room, it had been empty, despite nobody having left the room except for Charlotte.

And now she had run off in the middle of their date due to his brother's abhorrent behavior.

“Well I hope you are proud of yourself, Phillip.” He snarled. “Charlotte would rather walk home at night, _in Brockton Bay_ , than endure another minute of your company.”

“I’m sorry.” Phillip apologized. “I didn’t realize that was a sore spot for her.”

“You should have!” Forrest shouted. “You know that Emma’s had it out for her! Did you miss that Charlotte was shirking away every time your girlfriend opened her mouth?”

“Maybe she should grow a thicker skin then!” Phillip yelled.

"Grow a thicker skin? Are you even listening to yourself right now?!" Forrest shouted. "Look. Emma's been spreading shit around about how Charlotte is some kind of devious social climber. Charlotte is Jewish, in a city with a major Neo-Nazi gang. You don't think all the wannabe Empire 88 kids haven't picked up on what Emma's been saying and run with it?" At Forrest's remarks, Phillip and Laura seemed taken aback that their actions would have put them in the same breath as one of the more notorious gangs in Brockton Bay.

Forrest wasn't about to bring up Charlotte's angel with his brother.

"Come on, take me back home so I can get my car and tell Charlotte's parents what happened." Forrest sighed.

It was then that an envelope on the ground caught Forrest's attention.

Addressed on the front of it were the words "Forrest Chagny" with no street address and no return address. Opening the envelope he found a single sheet of paper, a hastily written note in Charlotte's handwriting.

> FORREST:
> 
> You must have the courage not to see me again, not to speak of me again. If you love me just a little, do this for me, for me who will never forget you, my dear Forrest My life depends upon it. Your life depends upon it.
> 
> CHARLOTTE.


	8. Chapter 6 - The Underground Cavern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Phantom of Winslow is here, inside our minds.

I ran.  
  
Laura’s words cut like a knife in me as she had given voice to every doubt and insecurity about my ability on the stage.  
  
Ever since the angel started coaching me on how to sing I’ve always had that seed of doubt that it wasn’t really ‘my’ voice that people were hearing, but rather that it was _their_ voice.  
  
I heard Forrest yelling for me but his voice was distant, muffled through the fog rolling in off the ocean.  
  
“ _Just a little bit further._ ” The voice continued to guide me along the streets of Brockton Bay.  
  
As I walked along Lord’s Street, the voice guided me onto a smaller side street nearby. The late hour and the mist rolling in off the ocean had given the neighborhood a quiet—nearly suffocating—stillness.  
  
As I passed a burned down house, I saw a small creek with a boat sitting on the banks.  
  
There on the banks of the creek was a figure, tall and thin, nearly skeletal. It was wearing a tuxedo that had seen better days, along with a bone-white mask which held no features that covered their entire face, and a black and red cloak that draped over their shoulders.  
  
“ _Bonsoir, mademoiselle._ ” Said the voice. At the same time, the figure by the boat held out one hand while using their other arm to perform a gruesome parody of a bow.  
  
“Angel of music, is that you?” I asked.  
  
“ _At your service, mademoiselle._ ” The figure spoke. It was _their_ voice speaking. “ _Have I sufficiently proved my identity?_ ”  
  
“Yes, yes of course Angel.” I replied.  
  
“ _Shall we?_ ” They asked. “ _Your carriage awaits my dear._ ”  
  
At their words, I stepped into the boat and the phantom pushed us off the shore using the oar.  
  
“ _Some music for our journey perhaps?_ ” They asked. I could only nod.  
  
As if from nowhere, the sound of several chords played as if on an invisible organ surrounded me. The music was a tune I was unfamiliar with, and yet I felt like I knew it already.  
  
As we followed the creek into a storm drain, the scant moonlight that had given form and shape to the phantom guiding the boat fell away, plunging us into near-darkness. The only illumination was from the kerosene lantern at the bow of our boat.  
  
I sang along to the music to myself, with the phantom joining in as we travelled further and further up the storm drain.  
  
After what seemed like an eternity in the dark tunnel, the bends of the storm drain began to brighten as we approached an area that was illuminated.  
  
I couldn’t believe my eyes at what stood before us so deep underground.  
  
Our boat had entered a large cavern, with every wall and surface covered with candles.  
  
On a rocky outcrop away from where the storm drain entered was a large rocky outcrop, and there was where a small living space had seemed to be set up.  
  
In the candlelit cavern, I got my first true glimpse of the phantom, my angel. The first thing I noticed was that they were almost waifishly thin, which lent them an almost androgynous figure. Framing the white mask they wore was a shaggy mop of black curls that just graced the top of their shoulders.  
  
“Angel... is this...?” I asked, hesitantly.  
  
“ _My home._ ” They replied. “ _A cavern carved out by a broken and forgotten storm drain._ ”  
  
As I stepped off the boat and onto the outcropping. I took in more of this place. Somehow a teachers desk that had been pilfered from one of Winslow’s classrooms was there, a stack of papers on top showing some kind of handwritten sheet music.  
  
“Did you write this?” I asked.  
  
“ _I have little else to do so I spend my time down here writing._ ” The phantom replied.  
  
“You write music then?” I asked, eyeing sheet music in front of me.  
  
“ _I write **SYMPHONIES**!_” The ghost exclaimed.  
  
I picked up one of the music sheets and hummed the melody to myself a couple of times to familiarize myself with the song.  
  
“You were once my one companion,” I sang. “You were all that mattered, you were once a friend and sister. Then my world was shattered.”  
  
I was broken out of the song by the Phantom snatching the sheet of music out of my hands.  
  
" _Please,_ " the ghost pleaded. " _Not that song. It's too personal._ "  
  
"Who are you, angel?" I asked.  
  
" _I am unimportant._ " they said. " _Merely a ghost in the night._ "  
  
I wanted to press the issue and ask again but I heard the impossible. The sound of a violin playing _Sibelius's Concerto in D_. Back before he passed away, Dad had been the 1st violin for the Boston Symphony orchestra, and would often play this song as a solo. Hearing it know, it sounded exactly the way that dad used to play, even down to the little flourishes that he would put on the concerto. It was dad who used to encourage me to sing by playing his violin as a backing track for my singing. After he passed away, I had come close to giving up on music entirely, before the angel came into my life and encouraged me to start singing again.  
  
"Angel, please." I said. "You have brought me so much in my life and I just wish to understand you."  
  
" _As I said._ " I heard them say. " _This world is not one for me anymore. I am but a phantom who's time has come and gone._ "  
  
I looked at the pages of music scattered around. There were so many songs. Was this all my angel spent their time doing? I grabbed another one, a complex melody that almost covered the pages in ink and corrections.  
  
The phantom had gone off to the desk and had started writing another song. They had a small electronic keyboard on the desk next to them and would experiment with various melodies before writing one down.  
  
It was so surreal to finally meet my angel of music in the flesh. To know that they're a living breathing person and yet, every word spoken here exuded self-loathing. I kept looking through the songs that the phantom had written.  
  
And there at the bottom of the stack was a photograph. It took me a second to realize what it was, it was the same photo I had seen in Emma's dressing room of her with that girl with the black curly hair. Was that girl the phantom?  
  
I had to know.  
  
Slowly and quietly, I walked over to the phantom, where they were busy writing, and I lifted their mask off.  
  
Behind the mask was the face of a girl. She might have been called pretty at one point, but instead her features were marred by masses of scar tissue and scabs.  
  
She immediately jumped away and covered her face with the cloak, hissing in pain.  
  
" _Damn you!_ " She yelled. " _You little prying Pandora!_ "  
  
"I'm..." I stuttered out an apology. "I'm sorry!"  
  
" _Was that what you wanted to see?_ " She asked.  
  
" _Now do you understand why I cannot show my face?_ " She asked.  
  
"Phantom," I asked. "What happened to you?"  
  
" _Go!_ " she yelled. " _I'm sure the police are looking for you now._ "  
  
She grabbed me by the wrist and nearly dragged me over to the boat, with her standing behind me at the stern with he single oar. As the boat pushed off from the shore, the candle-lit cavern where the phantom lived fell away into the inky blackness of the storm drain, before that too gave way to the light of dawn outside.  
  
In the light of day, I realized that this neighborhood wasn't too far from Winslow. Checking the time on my phone. I saw that I had nearly a dozen missed calls from Forrest.  
  
It was time to face the music.


	9. Chapter 7 - Il Muto and What Followed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma Barnes and Greg Veder both croak during a performance of Il Muto

The day that it happened hadn't started off as any other day. My late return from the date from hell and my subsequent visit with the angel of music had caused mom to file a missing persons report with the police, especially after Forrest came to the house empty-handed. Granddad had half a mind to ground me over that stunt until Forrest had made his brother explain why I left that date in tears.

Once that situation had been cleared up, with threat of being grounded until I was 40 no longer hanging over my head, I was content to spend a lazy Sunday at home watching TV and reading until I got a call from Mr. Firmin and Mr. Gladly.

It seemed that the actress who was supposed to be playing the non-speaking role of the pageboy in _Il Muto_ had woken up with an acute case of veisalgia this morning and now wouldn't be in a fit state to play the role. Even though I was on probation with Winslow's theater department over the letters, I was still taking drama classes and thus knew all the blocking and choreography for the show. And as the pageboy was a silent part, I wouldn't be able to upstage _Her Royal Highness of the Winslow Theater Lady Emma Barnes, Baronet of Brockton Bay._

“Hey zaydee can I get a ride to the school today?” I asked.

“Correct me if I'm wrong, but it's Sunday little lady, and they don't have school on Sundays.” my grandfather asked.

“It's for the play. They want me to be the understudy for the pageboy.”

“Does that mean we get to hear your singing voice?” he asked.

“No.” I said. “It’s a silent role. Mr. Firmin and Mr. Gladly said that I was lucky to even get that right now.”

“Oh that’s a shame.” Grandpa said, sounding disappointed. “Shall we?”

I grabbed my purse and backpack and headed out the door, shrugging off an odd premonition that something bad was going to happen tonight.

* * *

“I see the toad has managed to squirm her way back into the show.” Said Emma Barnes to one of her new friends that had started showing up, Cassie something or other.

I said nothing. No point in giving Barnes more ammo against me.

“Listen Daaé, don’t fuck this up for me. Got it?” Emma practically snarled at me.

“Sheesh alright, don’t need to get all hot and bothered.” I snarked back.

“Fuck off ki-” That new girl Cassie had started to speak and then stopped herself. I guess implying I’m part of some huge conspiracy is fine but actually throwing slurs around is too far.

“Just remember your lines _Emma_.” I replied. “Or is this gonna be another Scottish Play?” I knew I was twisting the knife here, reminding Emma of her fuckups when she got cast as one of the three witches in Macbeth and couldn’t remember her lines for the life of her.

With that, I saw Mr. Gladly coming over, which meant that he was liable to ‘break us up’ by taking Emma’s side again. So I just barreled my way through Emma’s group and marched over to my dressing room.

Once there, I took a deep breath and started to get in-character for my role as the mute pageboy Serafimo. I had to shove down all my frustration and annoyance at Emma and for the next few hours, convince myself that I was madly in love with her, or rather with Emma’s character, The Countess of Attilio.

_Il Muto_ , or The Mute, was an opera from the early 1800’s by Ubaldo Albrizzio, that was written as a kind of gender-swapped version of Mozart’s Don Giovanni. The Premise is that the countess had fallen out of love with her husband, and after having her life saved by the mute pageboy Serafimo, quickly developing strong feelings for him. Soon the affair becomes obvious to everyone but the Count himself. So he hatches a scheme to catch his unfaithful wife cheating on him.

Serafimo was traditionally played by a woman cross-dressing as a man, who then crossdresses as a woman for part of the play. And in this sense, I would be doing the same thing, I would be playing a breeches role of Serafimo, and then further adding a ‘disguise’ to appear as a girl pretending to be a guy pretending to be a girl. 19th century Operas were weird like that.

As I finished changing into my costume for my first scene and went over to the makeup areas where hair and makeup people were busy getting everyone ready for the show and grabbed the empty seat next to Megan.

“I’m telling you. His face was sunken and almost an ashen gray in pallor, waxy like a corpse.” Greg Veder said. “And where a nose should be was a black void like a skull.” I listened more to his descriptions of the Winslow Theater Ghost, and he wasn’t exactly wrong per se in the descriptions, but having met her, I knew that wasn’t all there was to her.

“Veder!” Yelled Megan’s mom, Mrs. Giry. “You’re needed in the booth to go over follow-spot cues.”

Greg sighed and trundled away.

“I swear that boy wouldn’t know when to hold his tongue if his life depended on it.” Mrs. Giry grumbled.

“Two minute warning everyone, two minutes.” Said our stage manager into her headset. I got over to my mark in the wings of the stage, waiting for my cue.

As we all got into position for the curtain to open, my heart was racing. The odd feeling that something bad was going to happen hadn’t abated, it had only grown worse since arriving. I pushed that feeling down; for now I was no longer Charlotte Daaé, but Serafimo Giudicelli, a mute pageboy in 18th Century Italy.

As the curtain opened, I looked out and saw a packed house. Even box number 5, the one that we don’t normally sell, had people in it.

We made it most of the way through the first act when _it_ happened. Scene 5 was the penultimate scene of Act I, The Countess inspects Serafimo’s, inspects _my_ , disguise as her newest chamber maid. The Count Attilio then pretends to leave the room, The Countess removes my disguise and asks me to kiss her while her husband is away. He then comes back and catches her in the act, ending the scene and the first act. That wasn’t what happened that night.

The stagehands rolled the bed onto the stage while the bedroom backdrop was flown in behind us. Emma took her mark on the bed, and I went to my mark behind her.

The curtains opened on the scene and the chorus members came out singing “shame shame shame” perfectly. I started pantomiming kissing and fondling ~~Emma~~ The Countess as if we were in the heat of the moment, and Emma pantomimed The Countess reciprocating. On cue, the second set of curtains opened to reveal myself and Emma on the Countesses bed. I jumped up as if in shock that I had been caught in such an intimate moment with my lady.

“Serafimo, your disguise is perfect!” Emma said, complimenting me on my disguise as one of her maids. From the soundboard came a prerecorded door knocking sound; Megan, playing one of the chamber maids, crossed the stage to stage left and pantomimed opening a door in the curtains.

From the wing on stage left, Alec Piangi in his role as the Count Attilio entered the ‘room’ and sang that he had to leave for England on affairs of state, in the process trying to cop a feel on the countesses new ‘maid,’ who happened to be me, Serafimo.

“Though I would happily take the maid with me.” The Count made an aside to the fourth wall.

With the house lights off, you couldn’t see the audience that well, but I could hear their reaction, and that line killed. In the rafters I thought I sound see something moving around but I just assumed that was Greg or one of the other follow spot operators.

“The old fool is leaving!” Emma said to the fourth wall. Another laugh from the audience. We had a good house tonight.

Alec then made a big show of pretending to leave the ‘room’ but in fact just moved to the wings where the audience could still see him. But to us, it was as if the Count had left.

“Serafimo, away with this pretense!” Emma sang. “You cannot speak, but kiss me in my husband’s absence.” On that cue, I stripped away the maid disguise and revealed my regular breeches costume. Off to the side, Alec made big exaggerated motions as if to shame us now that the count had caught us having an affair behind his back.

“Pooor fool he makes me laugh, ha ha ha ha” Emma sang. The part of The Countess required a fairly large vocal range because you had to hit some serious high notes in it, and as much as I didn’t like Emma, I had to admit that she _could_ hit those high notes. “It’s time I tried to get a better better half!”

“Pooor fool he doesn’t know. Hohohoho.” Joined in the chorus. “If he knew the truth he’d never ever go.”

It was here that things started to go wrong.

“DID I NOT INSTRUCT THAT BOX FIVE WAS TO KEPT EMPTY FOR MY USES.” Boomed a voice from out of nowhere.

“It’s him.” Said Megan, breaking character. “The Phantom.”

“It’s her.” I whispered to myself more than anyone.

Emma turned around to look at me, her eyes full of anger. “Your part is silent, little toad.” She said in a quiet voice that wasn’t supposed to get picked up by the mics. Unfortunately, it was picked up by her mic and played loudly over the speakers to several gasps in the audience.

“A TOAD MADAM?” taunted the voice. “PERHAPS IT IS YOU WHO IS THE TOAD?”

I heard the stage manager clearing her throat in the wings as if to get the show back on track. Emma took the cue and started back up.

“Serafimo, away with this pretense.” She sang again. “You cannot speak, but kiss me in my husband’s ab-HURK!”

There was shock on Emma’s face and shock on the faces of all the audience. Mr. Firmin and Mr. Gladly could not suppress an exclamation of horror. Everyone knew that this could not be natural, that there was some kind of parahuman power behind it.

The uproar in the house was indescribable. If it had happened to anyone but Emma, she would have been a laughing stock. But everybody knew how perfect an instrument her voice was; and there was no display of anger, but only of horror and dismay, the sort of dismay which someone would have felt if they had witnessed the catastrophe that broke the arms of the Venus de Milo.

But here that toad was incomprehensible! So much so that, after some seconds spent in asking herself if she had really heard that note, that sound, that infernal noise issue from her throat, she tried to persuade herself that it was not so, that she was the victim of an illusion, an illusion of the ear, and not of an act of treachery on the part of her voice.

Across the house floated a menacing, sinister, laughter.

Emma, for her part, simply picked right back up.

“Pooooor fool he makes me laugh.” Emma sang. “Hahaha-HURK!” It happened again. “Hurk!” She croaked again.

“BEHOLD! SHE’S SINGING TO BRING DOWN THE CHANDELIER!” Boomed the voice again. At the moment, the house lights came up as the chandelier started to rock and drop slightly on its chain.

But what caught my eye wasn’t the chandelier itself, but the shadow hanging from it.

Before I fully realized what was hanging from the chandelier, Megan screamed out in shock and I realized what it was we were seeing.

Greg Veder was hanging from the neck from the chandelier.

The theater erupted in pandemonium as people took in the sight.

“Everyone please remain calm!” Came the voice for Mr. Gladly over the speakers. “We’ve had an accident, please remain calm and walk outside the theater, the PRT has been called.”

“Charlotte!” Came the voice of Forrest from the audience. “Come with me!”

It was at that moment, and I saw the Chandelier start to drop slightly again, with dust coming out of the hole where it was normally mounted to the ceiling. Was this all the work on my angel? What kind of person was she if that was the case?

“Follow me, we’ll be safer on the roof.” I said to Forrest, pulling him up onto the stage and leading him to the stairwell that led to the rooftop.

As I took one last look at the theater, I saw the enormous chandelier fully slip free of its mountings and plummet towards the ground.

The panicking crowd stampeded away from the falling chandelier, but many more couldn’t make it away in time.

The chandelier slammed into the orchestral level seats, creating a shower of sparks at the moment of impact, and creating an explosion of broken glass that flew everywhere. Forrest instinctively threw himself in front of me to shield me from the glass shards but none came our way. Many others still in the theater though weren’t so lucky.

I took one last look at the theater with the smashed chandelier seemingly out of place among the seats.

It was a disaster beyond imagination.


	10. Interlude B♯

I hit play on the CD player, and Carnival of the Animals began playing in our vehicles sound system. Focusing my attention on the world outside the RV, I reached out with my bugs, sending them out ahead of us into the town to check for any surprises. There were none.  
  
"Mom, Can we stop for ice cream?" My little girl asked.  
  
"Sure thing sweetie." I replied.  
  
Ahead of us, the town had erupted into a panic when people saw my bugs moving around. Air raid sirens had started screaming and everybody was running for shelter.  
  
"What kind of ice cream do you want honey?" I asked.  
  
"Do they have mint cookie crunch?" She asked.  
  
"Well I don't know sweetie," I replied. In the town, people had raided the hardware store for tape and were busy taping spiderweb patterns on all the windows they could find in a futile attempt to stop them from breaking, and if they did break to contain the glass shards. "Tell you what, if they don't have some, I'll get you some mint chocolate chip and some Oreos and we'll make our own Mint Cookie Crunch ice cream."  
  
"Attention! Attention! This is the Parahuman Response Team! If you are wearing glasses, remove them immediately, and if you are near a window or mirror move away from them immediately! This is not a drill!" Came a tinny voice over the loudspeaker on a PRT issue van.  
  
The town around us was in a state of pandemonium as everyone began running for the shelters. "Hooray!" she replied.  
  
"Midha, if you would please?" I asked my impeccably-dressed colleague, the Emirati woman next to me simply nodded and began to sing. Miss Al Ghurair had never quite forgiven me for assuming the leadership of the team, but she was enough of a professional to still work with me.  
  
At once, every pane of glass in the town began to vibrate and shake causing them all to start playing Camille Saint-Saëns's Danse Macabre out of them as if each windowpane was an enormous speaker. Around me, my family stood steadfast in not moving.  
  
Death's violin, calling the skeletons out of the graves began to play, the animated skeletons that my two daughters had made for me emerged from the ground and began to dance in time to the romantic-era composition. The singular sound a violin, calling the spirits of the dead out to dance filled the streets, only broken by the sound of people screaming and running for shelter. I spread out my swarm, which only fueled a further panic, as people screamed and clawed to try and get away from the bugs.   
  
As the song continued, additional instruments began to join in on death's dance, and more animated skeletons emerged from the ground and dance in the street.  
  
Saint-Saëns's music finally reached a crescendo, and as it did, the windows all across the town began to shatter and explode outward. The sounds of screaming only multiplied further as Midha's power began to amplify itself and grow further until there was not a single unbroken pane of glass in the entire town.  
  
My family and I began to walk calmly through the shattered town, projecting the image that we were just a regular family out on a stroll, acting as if we could not notice the devastation that we had just wrought.  
  
On the streets around us, people gave us a wide berth, afraid that we'd kill them with just a look. That was rather absurd in my opinion, as anybody who knew me knew that I didn't need to look at them to kill them.  
  
With a wall of bugs ahead of me, people continued to scream and run away, as I reached out through my bugs' senses, my ants caught the telltale scent of an ice cream store, now empty.  
  
"Well Riley, I think I found an ice cream store." I said.  
  
Riley's face broke into an enormous grin at the mention of the frozen treat.  
  
"Well Annie, does ice cream sound good right now?" I asked the shy brunette with us. My other daughter hesitantly nodded her head.  
  
Making my way into the empty ice cream shop, I ordered all of my bugs out of the store to create a chitin wall around us so that we could have a nice family conversation without being disturbed.  
  
"Midha, could you be a dear and get the glass please?" I asked.  
  
Shatterbird obliged and the broken glass that had covered the shop floated up and out of the store.  
  
I walked behind the counter of the store and grabbed an ice cream scoop and some bowls for us.  
  
"Riley, you said you wanted the mind cookie crunch?" I asked. Riley nodded at me.  
  
"Yeah! And you said that if I was a good girl I could get gummi bears on top too!" She answered.  
  
"Well I did promise that, and you have been a good girl on this trip, so I don't see why not." I answered, pouring a scoop of the gummi bears on top of Riley's ice cream. "Annie, what would you like?"  
  
"Um..." Amelia 'Annie' Lavere hesitated. "Just vanilla for me please."  
  
Annie's tone set off alarm bells in my head. "Annie? Are you okay?"  
  
"I..." Annie started. "I don't know. You've all been so nice to me but then when we were in the last town when we were picking up clothing you said that my outfit reminded you of _her_ , and so I... so I thought that you were trying to make me into her so I could take her place."  
  
I rushed around the counter and wrapped Annie up in a tight hug, with Riley joining in as well.  
  
"Is that what you thought honey?" I said, trying to reassure her. "That's not it at all. I've _never_ seen you as a replacement for her sweetie. I'll always have room in my heart for three bright, wonderful young girls, and even though Jacob took my first daughter from me too soon, she'll always be with us in our hearts."  
  
"Can you tell us about her?" Riley asked. "About big sis?"  
  
"Sure thing honey." I replied. "When she was your age, she used to love listen to classical music. One time, I had come home from work as she had turned the record player up as loud as it went so she could listen to Mozart's Lacrimosa that she didn't even hear me walk-"  
  
"ANNETTE HEBERT!" Boomed a voice from outside the store. "WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED! COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!"  
  
"Well girls, work calls." I said, placing the ice cream scoop into the tub of chocolate chip cookie dough. "Shall we?"


	11. Chapter 8 - Flight to the Rooftop

With the deafening sound of the chandelier crash still ringing in our ears, Forrest and I ran for the roof of the theater. I wasn't really thinking about anything beyond just putting as much distance as possible between myself and that underground monster as possible.

With the sounds of the police and PRT closing in, and stagehands yelling for us to go to the lobby so we could give statements for the PRT, we finally made it up the many flights of stairs to the rooftop.

“Charlotte! Please!” Forrest exclaimed. “Why have you brought us here? The PRT are taking statements downstairs”

“Please don't take me back there!” I pleaded. “She'll kill me.”

“She'll kill you?” Forrest asked. “Who'll kill you? What's going on here.”

“The Phantom.” I said. “She's the one behind what happened tonight. I know it!”

The finality of this hit me. All I could think about were those burning sunken eyes of hers. As lost as I was at Winslow, I would be trapped playing her demented game.

The casual cruelty with which she had killed Greg, hanging him from the chandelier during a show and then dropping it on the audience had scared me. How many others would this monster kill to get at me? A hundred? A thousand?

“Charlotte, that was a cape, just a person, not a ghost.” Forrest said, trying to reassure me.

“No Forrest,” I said. “I’ve been there, to her lair underneath the school. She’s real.”

“‘Lotte, we need to go to the police—to the PRT—about this.” Forrest said.

“I can’t.” I said. “She’ll find out I just know it, she’s already killed once, I’m scared she’ll come after me if we do that.”

“I’ll call the PRT.” Forrest said. “Maybe they can move you out of the city.”

“That’s...” I almost said no, but then I remembered my aunt’s home in Boston. “That’s not a bad idea, actually.”

“My aunt lives in Boston, I can go stay with her to get away from here.”

“We’ll go tonight.” Forrest said. “Pack up your essentials tonight, we’ll leave right away, and we can be in Boston by sunrise.”

I was still in shock about the monster that had worn my Angel’s voice. I thought that I had known her, but the sheer callousness of her murders had shocked me. On the one side was my Angel, the kind and gentle soul who had encouraged me and helped me elevate my singing to the level it was at; and on the other side was the monster who could kill without a thought over the smallest slights.

The sound of a footstep crunching on gravel broke me out of my thoughts. I looked up and saw a cloaked and hooded figure carrying a pair of crossbows. Their face was covered by a similar theater mask I had seen the Phantom wear.

“Shadow Stalker?” Forrest asked.

“It’s Daroga now.” The hooded figure replied.

“Daroga then.” I said. “What are you doing here?”

“I came here to warn you,” she said. “And to get you out of here without having to deal with the PRT and the cops.”

“I thought you were a Ward?” I asked.

“Not anymore.” she said. “I had a difference of opinion with The Protectorate, and quit.”

“Why?” I asked. “Why did you quit?”

“It’s not my secret to tell.” Shadow Stalker replied.

“Come on Charlotte.” Forrest said. “We can go back downstairs and talk to the PRT.”

I shook my head. I didn’t want to deal with them right now. I was of two minds about the phantom and if the PRT started questioning me about her I was afraid of what I would say about her. As much as she was a monster willing to kill without remorse, I also remembered pain in her eyes and her voice, and the bare existence she had eked out. Could I really take away everything from somebody who had barely anything?

“Take the fire escape.” The masked hero said. “You can sneak out that way and you won’t have to deal with them.”

“Let’s go.” I said.

We carefully made our way down the fire escape on the outside of the building. True to her word, the PRT hadn’t been paying attention to it and we were able to slip away from the perimeter unnoticed.

“You’ll come with me, right?” I asked. “To Boston?”

“I’ll talk to my parents about it but I don’t see an issue with it.” Forrest said. “At the very least, we can still text each other.”

“I know, but I still want to be able to see you.” I said.

“Boston isn’t that far away ‘lotte,” he said. “I’ll be able to take the train out to see you.”

“I know, but…” I started saying, hesitantly. “Can we make it official? Make _us_ official?”

“Are you sure? I thought you wanted to take things slow?” He asked.

“I do, but I need to know that you’ll be there for me.” I said. “That’s all I’m asking of you. Let’s make it official, tell the world that you’re my boyfriend, and I’m your girlfriend.”

“Charlotte…” Said Forrest, pulling me closer to him. I looked into his eyes for a moment, and then decided to charge in.

I leaned forward and kissed him.

It wasn’t the storybook kiss where the prince in shining armor kissed the damsel in distress, as I was the one initiating the kiss, but Forrest soon began returning the kiss with as much eagerness as I had put into it.

“I love you.” he said.

“I know.” I answered.

As we walked along the streets of Brockton Bay, it suddenly hit me that these streets, the streets I had become so familiar with over the past few years were about to become a distant memory for me.

“I’m gonna miss it.” I said. “The Bay.”

“I’m sure that you’ll find plenty to do in Boston.” Forrest said.

“I know, it’s just…” I hesitated. “I know that the Bay isn’t the greatest place but it has its own charm and I’m gonna miss that.”

“Tell you what.” Forrest said. “If they catch this Phantom, or if there’s no incidents at Winslow for the next few months, then they’ll have probably moved on by then. After 6 months, we can come back and see if Winslow is any better.”

“I… Okay. Let’s do it.” I said.

As we got to my house, Forrest walking me to the door like a gentleman, I smiled at him.

“Go get your car and wait for me here. It won’t take me long to pack up what I need.” I said.

“I’ll only be a minute, grabbing my car.” Forrest said.

“I love you.” I replied.

As I turned and walked into the house to pack up, I could have sworn I heard _her_ voice saying my name. I looked around for signs of the ghost, but I saw none. Shaking my head a bit to clear out the cobwebs, I continued upstairs to pack.


	12. Interlude Middle C

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophia Hess was a model Ward, she was practically guaranteed a protectorate leadership role when she graduated. So why did she throw it all away?

**December 5th, 2005 - Brockton Bay**

Her mother was halfway through singing ‘Happy Birthday’ by the time Sophia woke up.

“Don’ wanna get up. Wanna sleep in,” Sophia said, bleary. Through her sleep-addled eyes, Sophia could see streaks of sunlight leaking through the edges of the plywood covering her window.

“Sorry, azizam, I know you want to sleep in but you’ve got a big day.” It was her mother’s new boyfriend, Nadir, who said that, using his nickname for her.

“Come on, birthday girl,” her mother said. “Wake up so you can open your presents.”

At the mention of presents, Sophia was suddenly wide awake. Sophia may have just turned 10 but she could still appreciate birthday presents.

“Here you go,” said her mother’s boyfriend, placing a wrapped present on the bed. “Happy birthday.”

She tore open the wrapping paper to find a wooden music box, with a figure of a monkey wearing a set of Persian robes and holding a pair of cymbals attached to the top of it.

Nadir reached down and turned the key a few times, winding up the mechanism inside. The music box came to life, with the chime inside playing a short little melody. Sophia admired the music box, winding it and letting the mechanism play its little melody a few times while her parents went over to the kitchen to make pancakes for breakfast.

Pulling her covers off, Sophia sat up on the edge of the bed and grabbed her flip-flops. It had been a few months but they were still finding bits of broken glass around the apartment, so wearing shoes in the house was still a necessity.

But that was the past; right now, Sophia had birthday pancakes to eat.

* * *

The house by the creek had been a burnt out wreck ever since _that_ day. There were all kinds of rumors about what happened to that house: that it was haunted, that a bunch of people had been killed there, that Jack Slash was secretly buried underneath it, and other stories that people made up in absence of information.

Sophia had been in the basement of the house once, just after she got her powers. She had turned to her shadow state and floated through the forgotten coal chute into the basement. The inside had just been a bunch of scattered and burned boxes of random stuff.

She went past the house this time, to the creek that ran behind the houses here. Back then, before everything happened, she used to play by the creek and get her feet wet. She’d only been back there a couple of times since that day, but the neighborhood now appeared to be a hollow shell of its former self, with windows boarded up and bits of broken glass swept up into neat piles everywhere.

Sitting on a rock by the banks of the creek, Sophia took her shoes off and stuck her feet into the cool water. _It’s nice,_ she thought, _to relax by the creek like this in the brisk fall air._ Pulling her music box out of her backpack, Sophia wound it up and let it play its little melody.

Just as the music box started to wind down, Sophia heard it start playing again as if she had just wound it up.

Sophia began to turn her music box over to see what was making it play again, but the mechanisms were still and silent. And yet, the music continued.

As she continued to look, more invisible musical instruments began to play along with it.

She looked around to see if she could find who was playing along with her music box, but there was nobody there.

“Hello?” she asked.

Nobody replied to her.

The music continued to play. Growing more complex by the measure.

By the time the song finished playing for the second time, Sophia heard each instrument fade away one by one until there was only the sound of a single flute playing. She turned her head towards the sound of the flute and saw a girl her age in tattered clothes and an oversized porcelain white mask covering her face holding a flute.

“Hello?” Sophia asked.

“Uh... hi,” said the girl.

“Was that you with the music?” Sophia asked her. The other girl merely nodded.

“It’s my favorite piece of music, The Aviary from Saint-Saens’ Carnival of the Animals,” the girl said. “Mom used to play it for me when I was little.”

“That’s nice,” Sophia said. “I’m Sophia, by the way.”

“I’m Tayl-” she said, then stopped, “I mean, I’m Erika.”

“Erika, huh?” Sophia said. “Nice to meet you. I’m Sophia. What’re you doing out here?”

“I’m just waiting for Mom to come back,” Erika said.

“Where she’d go?” Sophia asked.

“Away,” said the girl.

“Do you know when she’s gonna be back?” Sophia asked.

“Don’t know.” Erika replied.

“Do you mind if I wait with you?” Sophia asked.

“I don’t mind,” said Erika.

With that invitation, Sophia sat down next to her on another rock and put her feet in the cool water of the stream.

Sophia opened her mouth several times to speak, to ask the girl about her mom, but every time she tried to ask, the words seemed to die in her throat. Instead the two just sat there, with only the sound of the stream rushing through the brisk air to keep them company.

“How did you do that? With the music?” Sophia asked her.

“I don’t know,” Erika replied. “I can hear all the sounds around me like I was right next to them, and then I can change them or make new ones.”

“I have to go back home soon,” Sophia said, “is your mom gonna be here soon?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Erika said, “she should be home soon anyway.”

With that cue, Sophia put her shoes back on and went back home.

* * *

**April, 2006**

The days and weeks that followed had Sophia going back to the burned house to visit Erika and wait for her mom with her. Every day she would show up and wait with her and every day Sophia left just before her mom came home. Every day Sophia would sneak food out to give to her, so the girl wouldn’t go hungry.

“Mom wants me to join the Wards,” Sophia said.

“Are you gonna join?” Erika asked me.

“I want to, but…” she said, “I don’t know.”

“I think you’d make a great hero,” she said.

“Thanks,” Sophia said, and Sophia found herself meaning it. Initially she hadn’t been too enthusiastic about joining the Wards. Her da-Steven had used to tell her about how the world was divided into predators and prey. Sophia even believed him for a while, but on _that_ day, when Sophia had gotten her powers, Sophia hadn’t been able to save him from the glass, even as her own powers protected her.

It was on that day that Sophia had learned the truth. There were no predators and prey, not really. The world was random and chaotic. Some of the strongest people in the world had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and died instantly. Weaker people had been lucky enough to be away from any glass and survived.

It wasn’t because they were stronger or weaker, it was because they were lucky. The strong and the weak was _Steven’s_ idea. Maybe Sophia needed to look at this a different way. It wasn’t about the strong and weak, predators and prey, it was about the lucky and the unlucky. If she joined the Wards, then maybe she could spend her time making the unlucky people just a little bit luckier.

* * *

**September, 2006**

The flimsy wooden stage in front of the PRT building had been constructed barely a week ago. As Sophia stood there, unmoving, she could feel the boards shifting and settling under everybody’s weight. But her job wasn’t to think about how the stage she was standing on was constructed.

“And so it is with great pleasure, that we introduce the newest member of the Brockton Bay Wards team, Shadow Stalker!” Sophia heard Renick say.

She stood up from her seat in the wings of the stage and walked up to the podium, trying to keep her nerves at bay, her grey cloak trailing against the stage floor.

_“You can do it,”_ Erika’s voice whispered in her ear, inaudible to everyone else. “ _I_ _believe in you.”_

At 10 years old, Sophia was easily the youngest member of the Brockton Bay Wards and Image was determined to pigeonhole her as the team’s mascot, but Sophia had pushed back hard against that idea. While she was able to get the name she wanted, Shadow Stalker, Sophia didn’t get the costume she wanted.

The costume she’d had in mind had been a hooded black cloak, a plain white theater mask, and a dark grey bodysuit like Alexandria’s.

What Sophia ended up with was a dark grey cloak, one without a hood, a silvery-white half-mask with a stern woman’s expression, and a light grey bodysuit. It wasn’t what she’d wanted as far as costumes went, but Sophia could live with it, and it was a compromise she’d been willing to make in exchange for her crossbows.

Crossbow shooting was a hobby that Steven had gotten her into before _that day_ had happened. Sophia didn’t have many fond memories of Steven but that came the closest. However, Sophia was a decent shot with a crossbow and had wanted to incorporate that into her costume. It took more than a few arguments, but she had eventually been able to reach an agreement for her crossbows. Sophia couldn’t have them right away and she couldn’t bring them out on patrols, a moot point as Sophia wouldn’t be able to patrol on her own until she was 14.

“Thank you Brockton Bay for your warm welcome,” Sophia said, beginning her speech. “I know that this city has been through a lot this past year. I know that because I was here for it, but we cannot live forever in the shadow of the past. I believe that hope is on the horizon for Brockton Bay and it is my honor to be the one of the people to bring that hope back.”

As Sophia walked away from the podium to take her seat on the stage, Battery put her hand on her shoulders to congratulate me.

“Nice speech, kid,” she said.

“Thanks, Batty,” Sophia replied, “I have my issues with the Image department but they do write good speeches.”

“Aw, is Stalker getting soft on us?” asked Challenger.

* * *

**July, 2007**

Shadow Stalker’s second visit to San Diego was far more stressful than her time at the Wards training camp last year. Last time she was here for what was essentially Wards boot camp, this time she was here for the Wards “leadership camp.” It turned out that if someone joined the Wards as young as Sophia did, the Protectorate started thinking of them as future leadership material and would start fast-tracking them.

Now that Sophia was settled in at the dorms in San Diego, she pulled out her phone and called Battery.

“Hey, Batty, how’s the bay?” Sophia asked her.

“The usual, Shady,” the captain of the Brockton Bay Wards asked. “Everything’s one step short of hell. How’s San Diego?”

“About the same as last year,” Sophia replied. “While mom was here with me last week we went to see The Pirates of Penzance at this theater in Balboa Park. It’s kinda weird because the theater is outside but airplanes fly really close to it so they have these stoplights by the stage that warns them whenever a plane is about to fly over and the actors will actually pause the play and wait for the plane.”

“Take a breath, Shady,” Battery said.

“Okay, so Pirates of Penzance is really funny,” Sophia said, “Mom and I both liked it. It’s one of the first times I‘ve seen her smile since Terry… Since that day. Leadership camp looks like it’s gonna be super busy, and they’re already talking like it’s a given that I’m gonna be running a Protectorate Team in the future.”

“Am I gonna have to call you ‘boss’ soon?” Battery asked me.

“Hah!” Sophia said. “As if that will ever happen.”

The two of them talked for a few more hours, catching up, gossiping about the Bay, talking about movies all the way until Battery had to go since it was getting late on the east coast.

* * *

**April, 2008 - Brockton Bay**

Shadow Stalker took aim at the targets down the range with her crossbow. With a soft _thwip_ and a clicking of the action, the bolt leapt out of the crossbow and embedded itself in the center ring of the target. Sophia quickly cocked the crossbow and another bolt popped itself up ready to be fired. She let loose another shot, again hitting the center ring. Sophia cocked the crossbow for a third shot and fired again, center ring.

“Good job, Shadow Stalker,” said Miss Militia. “Tight groupings, good accuracy. You did great today.”

She smiled at the praise from her. Today had been her range day with the crossbow, for her to prove that Sophia could be trusted with one in the field.

“Follow me to the conference room please,” said Armsmaster in his no-nonsense voice. Sophia followed the heroes through the labyrinthine corridors of the PRT building from the range to one of the conference rooms set aside for the Protectorate’s use.

Walking in, Sophia saw Director Piggot and Battery standing there.

“Please take a seat, Shadow Stalker,” Armsmaster directed. With his armor on, Sophia had trouble reading his tone to know if he was mad at her or not. Battery had a bit of a bad mood on her but Sophia figured that was probably because of her earlier run-in with Madcap.

Piggot, to Sophia’s eyes, had an attitude around parahumans that started and ended with contempt. According to Wards’ scuttlebutt, Piggot thought all parahumans were a problem waiting to happen. It didn’t help that her brusque attitude towards the Wards made it feel like she expected them to act like veteran PRT squad members, despite only having a fraction of the training or experience.

“Shadow Stalker, are you aware of the reason we’ve called you in here today?” Piggot asked.

“I got certified to use my crossbow?” Sophia offered.

“You did, actually,” said Armsmaster, “but that’s not actually the reason we’ve called you in here today.”

“Sophia,” Piggot said, “you’ve been a model Ward. Your dedication to your job is nothing short of exactly what we want out of our prospective Wards. You show up to every training event early, you help your teammates grasp their powers in new ways, and you do all of this without a whisper of a complaint. I could only wish every cape had your dedicated professionalism.”

“We’ve been receiving a flood of requests to transfer you to other Wards teams in order to help them out. So far, we’ve been able to keep them at bay by invoking the specter of the Youth Guard,” said Miss Militia.

Piggot looked Sophia dead in the eyes. “The question you need to ask yourself is, would you like to stay in Brockton Bay?”

“I do,” Sophia said. “I know that it has its problems, but I do actually like it here.”

“Very well,” said Piggot. “In light of that, I don’t see any reason why you can’t start going on more patrols and carrying your crossbows on patrols.”

“I’ve taken the liberty of making tranquilizer darts for your crossbow,” said Armsmaster, “They’re designed to interface with a combat scanner that’s built into your mask’s optical systems. It will automatically calculate the correct tranquilizer dosage for each shot to prevent you from overdosing your targets. Do _not_ assume that these are harmless. There’s a reason that anesthesiologists command some of the highest salaries in the medical profession.”

Sophia followed Armsmaster, Miss Militia, and Battery to the firing range, where, upon arriving, Armsmaster pulled a new pair of crossbows out of the weapons lockers and handed them to her.

She carefully grabbed the weapons and took a few minutes to get a feel for these new crossbows, getting a sense of their heft and balance.

“When you’re ready, the range is hot,” Miss Militia said.

She nodded at her, then took aim at the target painted on a ballistic gel dummy. With a quiet _thwip_ , the tranquilizer bolt leapt out of her crossbow and embedded itself in the lower half of the 3rd ring.

Adjusting her arm position, Sophia took aim again. With another quiet _thwip_ , the next bolt landed dead center of the target.

Armsmaster activated a remote control and retracted the target towards them.

A cloud was forming in the gel behind the dart’s triple-pronged head, the tranquilizer spreading through the simulated flesh.

_Yeah,_ Sophia thought. _These would do._

* * *

**September, 2008**

The cubes of blue Jello in the PRT building’s commissary jiggled in their bowl. Sophia was grabbing a quick meal before her console shift started. Battery had just come in off of patrol and was looking to unwind.

“Really? Madcap is joining the Protectorate?” she asked, “Madcap? The guy whose speciality is breaking people out of birdcage transports? Do you know how many civilians are dead because of the people he puts back on the street?”

“I know, I’m not a fan of it either, but the PRT says they need every cape they can get,” replied the youngest member of the Brockton Bay Protectorate.

The Protectorate was busier than ever. When the Nine killed Kaiser, the Empire 88 had broken apart from factionalism and infighting. The gang that once held Brockton Bay in an iron grip spent more time fighting each other than the heroes. As if that wasn’t enough, the groups from outside of Brockton Bay had smelled blood in the water and made a push for the city, with Blastgerm, Clockwork Dogs, The Four, and Orchard making a push for Brockton Bay. That wasn’t even getting into the minor villains like Damsel of Distress or Bad Apple who were trying to carve out a territory.

“I mean... just... are we supposed to act like Madcap never existed and be all chummy with the guy who put half of the capes we arrested back onto the street?” Sophia asked.

“Wish I had a better answer for you, Shady,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. Sophia didn’t get how she could drink that stuff, it was disgusting. She much preferred the tea that Erika had introduced her to. “So how’s your girlfriend? Are we ever gonna meet her?”

“Oh god don’t even start on that again,” Sophia groaned. “I told you, Batty, Erika’s not my girlfriend.”

“I know, I’m just teasing you,” she said. “Armsmaster is the one with the mysterious Canadian Girlfriend.”

“Oh my God, please tell me you said that to him,” Sophia said.

“God, I wish,” Battery said. “It would be worth the write-up just to see his face if I asked him about his totally real girlfriend who lives in Canada that we can’t ever meet for reasons.”

Sophia heard her phone beep its calendar reminder at her, so she went ahead and bussed her tray and grabbed a bunch of energy bars, one for herself to munch on during the console shift and some extras for Erika.

* * *

**January, 2009**

As Sophia struggled to carry the cooler filled with snacks and leftovers from the PRT Building’s commissary, it dawned on her that she might have overfilled it. Dragging it past the burnt house, she finally stopped for a breather by sitting on the lid of the cooler.

“Waiting for your mom again?” Sophia asked her.

Erika turned and looked at Sophia with her blank white mask. “She said she’d be back any minute.”

“Mind if I wait with you?” Sophia asked again.

It was routine now, almost. Sophia would wait with Erika for her mom to come home until the sun came down, she’d invite the girl to stay over, she’d refuse, and they’d go their separate ways.

“Nothing to be done,” Sophia quoted.

“I’m beginning to come round to that opinion,” Erika said, walking towards her. “All my life I’ve tried to put it from me, saying Vladimir be reasonable, you haven’t yet tried everything. And I resumed the struggle.”

Erika turned and faced Sophia. “So there you are again.”

“Am I?” Sophia asked.

“I’m glad to see you back. I thought you were gone forever.”

“Me too.” Sophia said, a certain amount of sincerity creeping into her voice.

“Together again at last!” Erika shouted exuberantly. “We’ll have to celebrate this. But how?” She seemed to consider things for a moment before adding, “Get up ‘til I embrace you.”

“Not now, not now,” Sophia said, mocking indignation in her voice.

“May one inquire where Her Highness spent the night?” Erika asked, as if hurt.

“In a ditch,” Sophia said.

“A ditch!” Erika said in mock-admiration. “Where?”

The two girls continued reciting the play as best they could until the sun began to crest behind the horizon.

* * *

**September 2010 - PRT ENE Headquarters, Brockton Bay**

Sophia shuffled into the cramped briefing room taking a seat next to the new Ward, Kid Win, with Vista and Clockblocker sitting on the other side of her. Vista had taken a shine to Sophia when she had been brought on board to the Wards. Sophia, for her part, was just glad to get another girl on the team.

“Good afternoon everyone,” said Miss Militia. “We’ve brought you in here today to give you an update on the Slaughterhouse Nine.”

Sophia tensed. It has been believed that the Nine had been done for with the death of Jack Slash. Unfortunately, Locust had taken the reins afterwards.

_At least with Jack Slash,_ Sophia thought, _there had been an identity behind the name, even if he had nothing left to that identity._

That hadn’t been the case with Locust. As far as Sophia knew, nobody had seen her unmasked or knew anything about her. WEDGDG hadn’t found anything linking her to a civilian identity, so Locust had been an enigma.

“Two weeks ago, on August 29th, the Slaughterhouse Nine made an appearance in Thermopolis, Wyoming. As usual, they held one of their usual ‘performances’ that left the city in ruins,” Miss Militia said, “Fortunately for us, a late peeping tom’s webcam afforded the authorities a break. Shortly before Shatterbird’s attack, this webcam was able to capture a brief glimpse of Locust unmasked.”

The slide on the projector screen shifted, showing a blurry image of Locust without her mask.

The few features that could be made out were of a plain looking caucasian woman with dark curly hair that reminded her of Erika’s.

“Dragon’s facial analysis algorithms have produced a 58% confidence match to somebody who used to be here, in Brockton Bay,” said Armsmaster, taking over. “Given that Locust only appeared among the Nine _after_ Jack met his end here, it’s theorized that she joined at that time.”

As Armsmaster clicked the slide forward, I saw a portrait of a woman I knew I had seen before.

“This is our most likely candidate for Locust’s identity,” said Armsmaster. “Professor Annette Rose Hebert.

“According to our profile, she vanished in 2005, shortly after Jack’s death,” said Piggot. “In doing so, she left behind her late husband, Daniel Gaston Hebert, and daughter, Taylor Erika Hebert.”

“As for the daughter, she was declared dead on June 19th, 2005, shortly after the Nine left town,” said Piggot, “her tenth birthday as it happened. However, upon consultation with Watchdog, they cannot give us a definitive answer that could confirm the daughter’s death.”

The presentation clicked over to the next slide again, and this time Sophia saw a very familiar mop of curly hair. Only this time it was on a school picture of a ‘Taylor Erika Hebert.’

The more Sophia studied the picture, the less she could deny the similarities between her friend Erika and the girl in the picture. The body type, the hair, the clothing.

“As we cannot get an ironclad confirmation of the daughter’s death, we are therefore going to proceed as if she is still alive,” said Piggot. “The Chief Director has drafted an unsigned kill order for Mrs. Hebert as well as an order for her daughter to be brought into PRT custody if she is alive.”

Sophia’s heart skipped a beat. A _kill order_ , a trial in absentia for somebody who only had a 58% chance of being a member of the Slaughterhouse Nine.

“You want to use the daughter as leverage?” asked Battery. “Show Locust that we have her daughter and force her to surrender.”

“Isn’t that just hostage-taking?” Sophia asked, “This girl, if she’s alive, probably knows nothing of her mother’s crimes. We’d be doing the same things as the people we’ve been fighting.”

She remembered Steven, and what being in that kind of custody was like, even when it was ostensibly to protect her. She wouldn’t wish that on anybody, least of all Erika.

“You don’t have to agree with this, Miss Hess, but I do expect you to follow orders. Is that understood?” Piggot said, rebuking Sophia’s argument with little more than a ‘because I said so.’

It didn’t sit well with Sophia.

* * *

Sophia rocked on her heels in nervous anticipation as Director Piggot read her letter. All she could do was watch the Director’s reactions for any hints about how she’d react to this news.

Piggot finally put down the letter onto her desk, took a deep breath and clenched and unclenched her fingers.

“I won’t say that I’m not disappointed by this, Shadow Stalker,” Piggot said. “You’ve been one of our best Wards and one of the longest serving in this building.”

“I know that, Director, I wouldn’t be making this decis-” Sophia started to speak before the Director cut her off.

“Let me finish,” she said. “You are a model Ward, and to lose you over an issue like this speaks to a far deeper problem than you realize. Your objections to this are entirely reasonable, and in a just world this issue would be moot.”

Piggot let those words hang in the air for a moment.

“It is unfortunate that we do not live in a just world,” Piggot said. “I don’t like many of the orders that I am given from the Chief Director, yet I still carry them out. THAT is what it means to be a member of the Protectorate, Miss Hess. We don’t get the luxury of choosing which orders we choose to obey.”

“I…” Sophia paused, trying to find her words, “I understand, Director. Still though, I cannot be a part of the Protectorate if following orders like that is part and parcel with it.”

“Oh course, Miss Hess,” said Piggot. “I think I speak for everyone when I say that I hold no ill will towards you. You have your principles and you stand by them. That’s good, admirable even. I can safely speak for the PRT and say that you are free to rejoin any time you wish. Take care.”

“I will, thank you,” Sophia said, removing her mask and leaving it on Piggot’s desk.

As Sophia made her way out of the PRT building for the last time, she mulled over a new cape name. Shadow Stalker was the Protectorate’s name, and she couldn’t use it anymore without getting sued.

_Daroga_ sounded pretty good.


End file.
